


Forgive me

by queseyo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: 25/10 upd8, Angst, Blood, Death, upd8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/pseuds/queseyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do not howl in pain as the swords are plunged through your chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [comme_ci (aulirie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aulirie/gifts).



> So, the upd8 from weeks ago killed me. And this took forever because of writer's block. But here it is.

Parry. Parry. Block. Turn. Block.

Parry.

Block.

Pa—

You do not howl in pain as the swords are plunged through your chest.

You do not move.

You remain exactly where you are, still as can be. You have about ten— _nine_ —seconds before you— _eight_ —die.

Tick. Tock.

The clock in your head, forever ticking—forever counting down minutes and seconds—is still going. Well, at a much slower pace, but it’s still going.

_That means you’re still alive_. No shit, you want to reply.

Blood gurgles in your throat and you choke, remembering that your body is still alive, still trying to hold onto the final threads of life before it leaves this fucked up world forever.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

_Your clock’s about to stop._ Tick. Tock.

Muffled screams echo in the distance. You think you hear someone sobbing and the sound of a blade being pulled out of a body.

_Focus._

_Seven._

Why, when you’re about to die, is it when the clock inside of you decides to slow time to a fucking standstill. You are positive you would be dead by now, but somehow, for some ridiculous reason, your remaining seconds of life seem like hours.

Tick. Tock.

The ticking’s too much. Sure, ever since you God Tier-ered, it’s been there; constantly telling you how many minutes, seconds, and milliseconds have passed. At first, it drove you insane. You used to hole yourself up in your room, eyes tightly shut, hands pressed against your forehead, hoping the infernal ticking would leave you alone.

But it never stopped. You learned to deal with it while on the meteor. Three years gave you a long time to get used to it.

You wonder what it’s like to actually die. To physically feel your heart stop beating, to hear the last molecule of air escape your lungs.

_Six._

Well, you guess you’re about to find out.

Out of all the thoughts that are running through your head while you wheeze and gasp, one remains. You wonder what it would be like to have a funeral. Fine, perhaps that’s a bit morbid, but it’s never too late to plan your own funeral, right?

For a fraction of a millisecond, you allow yourself to picture it. You see people gathered around a casket, weeping for you. You picture Rose in a black dress, tears streaming down her face. You see John biting his lip, eyes red. You see Jade, whispering to herself that it’s just a trick. That you’ll be back soon.

_Did you really think you weren’t loved?_

You want to scream at the voice in your head. You want to tell them that you no longer matter, that it’s alright if you die.

At least you died trying to protect one of your friends. You couldn’t save Rose. God knows where the hell John is. At least you tried to save Jade. At least—

_Five_.

Fuck. Fuck. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to leave them. Even if it means the end of the universe, you want to be with your friends when it ends. You can’t leave them. You _can’t_.

You feel tears burn in your eyes. It’s taking you every last ounce of strength to try and not cry. Your grip on your sword slips. You try to tighten it, but to no avail. Caledfwlch clatters to the ground.

Tick. Tock.Your time is running out, Dave.

Tick. Tock.

Your lips part and your lungs try to take in air, but you can’t. It’s too late now. A shaky breath, mixed with sobs, manages to leave your lips.Suddenly, the pain in your chest and abdomen vanishes, and you realizes the swords have been pulled out of your body. You gag, blood spilling from your lips. You’re in so much pain that you’re wondering how the fuck you managed to survive these last ten seconds.

You try to wrap your arms around the wound. You need to apply pressure to it before you bleed to death. Your arms refuse to move. They’re as heavy as lead.

Your eyelids flutter and black spots dance at the edge of your vision. The voice in your head comes again: _Why aren’t you fighting? Pick up your sword._

“I—” bile and blood mix in your throat and you gag again, choking on it.       

_Please let me die_ , you beg to whichever omnipotent being is up there. _I can no longer take it._

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. You can feel tears streaming down your cheeks as your body crumples to the ground. Your brain doesn’t register you falling on top of Jade’s corpse.

You remember hearing from someone years ago—Bro, was it? Or perhaps John?—that a warrior’s greatest honor was dying with their sword in their hand. Your body is too weak to even try and reach for Caledfwlch.

_Four._

The world is spinning. _Why?_ Your lips move, but the only thing that comes out of them is blood. Your chest and abdomen are numb. Wait, why is there blood everywhere?

Everything—every single memory of the game, whether it is from your doomed selves or from the Alpha timeline—flash through your head. Your eyelids flutter as you try to block them out. You just want to sleep. Sleep would be so nice right now.

_Oh, this is truly pathetic, Dave._ _You’re so pathetic._

You push the voices away. You need to r—

No, no, no. NO! You can’t just die. What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You’re Dave fucking Strider, you’re not gonna die. Not while you can still save your friends.

You need to get up. Come on, one last battle, you can do this. Just grab your sword and—

_Three._

_Two._

I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you, Jade. I’m a terrible Knight. 

_One._

The ticking is coming slower than before. You’ve got about sixty seconds before your body finally shuts down for good. You see a red clock behind your closed eyelids, slowly counting down.

Your lips move as you take in air for the last time. Your tongue tastes of snow, ash, lava, and blood.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Ti—

I will  _never_  be a hero. 


End file.
